


The Magnificent Brotherhood of Seijou

by Karasuno Volleygays (ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Bigotry, Gen, People sometimes don't suck, Seijou Week, allusions to homophobia, cross-dressing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-18 14:48:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3573662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor/pseuds/Karasuno%20Volleygays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their school is supposed to be a better place, and horrible things like this just don’t happen in a safe place like Aobajousai. But it isn’t, and it does.</p>
<p>When Hanamaki Takahiro starts getting harassing calls and texts, his best friend Matsukawa Issei decides to enlist his teammates to show his friend that he is perfect the way he is and, most importantly, that he is not alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Magnificent Brotherhood of Seijou

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for Seijou Week on Tumblr — Day 4: Third Years.

Seven calls in three days. 

Hanamaki frowns as he peruses his call history. It isn’t full of friends and family and crushes he calls and hangs up on before he can muster the courage to actually speak. Instead, it’s the same over and over.

_Contact Information Unavailable_

However, he can deal with the calls. After the first few, he knows not to answer them anymore. The text messages are worse because he can’t help but look. Those are what he can’t get out of his head.

_From: Contact Information Unavailable_  
_Sent: June 4 3:17AM_  
_Subject: (no subject)  
_ _Message: faggot_

_From: Contact Information Unavailable_  
_Sent: June 4 06:44AM_  
_Subject: (no subject)  
_ _Message: kill yourself_

_From: Contact Information Unavailable_  
_Sent: June 5 11:05PM_  
_Subject: (no subject)  
_ _Message: saw a dead whore in a skirt and thought of you_

Over and over, multiple times per day, Hanamaki hears his text alert and has to fight the urge to throw his phone out the window. Each one is worse than the next. Or maybe they just make him feel worse every time.

He should delete them, he knows that. His finger has hovered over the button to delete the text history, to erase the call log, but it always stills at the last moment.

Maybe he deserves this.

_No_ , he thinks as he shakes his head as if to rattle that thought away. With a frown, he pushes his phone away and tries fruitlessly to make sense of his calculus. Numbers buffet his brain until it screams for him to stop and seek rest that will not come.

And then the text comes.

_From: Contact Information Unavailable  
_ _Sent: June 5 09:55PM  
_ _Subject: (no subject)  
_ _Message: don’t ever come back to school or you’ll regret it_  

Hanamaki’s vision blurs and his hands start to shake. It isn’t supposed to be like this — not again. He has made it all the way into his third year at Aobajousai without being discovered, but it seems like that is all over now. Somebody knows, and it won’t be long now before everyone else does, as well. His last year of high school will be full of ridicule from people who used to be indifferent to him, or even friends. Just like middle school.

He knows he should tell someone, but Contact Information Unavailable could be literally anyone with a burner phone and a chip on their shoulder. Even . . . .

_No_ , Hanamaki tells himself sharply once again. He knows one person who would never act this way, even if they thought he was a monstrosity. With trembling fingers, he sends the text.

_Sent To: Matsukawa Issei  
_ _Sent: June 5 10:10PM  
_ _Subject: (no subject)  
_ _Message: Can you come over?_  

The reply comes in short order, but Hanamaki’s chest aches when he reads it.

_From: Matsukawa Issei_  
_Sent: June 5 10:12PM_  
_Subject: (no subject)  
_ _Message: Dude, it’s a school night. Can it wait until tomorrow? I’ll swing by yours and walk to practice with you if you need to talk._

Hanamaki stares at the message, heart pounding painfully against his ribcage as he realizes what he has just done. Now Matsukawa will want to know what he wanted to say, and while he won’t demand an answer, he won’t forget the matter until he has one. With a sigh, Hanamaki decides to simply get it out.

_Sent To: Matsukawa Issei  
_ _Sent: June 5 10:17PM  
_ _Subject: Um…  
_ _Message: I just don’t want to be alone right now_  

‘Pathetic’ is the only word Hanamaki can assign to how he feels right now. But he told the truth, as much as he is willing to do over a text. Somehow, if Matsukawa is going to hate or judge him for his secret, he wants to know about it right away so he can deal with it head-on.

His relief is palpable when Matsukawa texts back.

_From: Matsukawa Issei_  
_Sent: June 5 10:18PM_  
_Subject: (no subject)  
_ _Message: Ten minutes_

  

 

_Tap-tap-taptaptap._

Hanamaki instantly recognizes the rattle of his friend’s secret knock on his window. It isn’t the first time (or, he reckons, the last) they will be sneaking into each other’s houses after hours. Pulling back the curtain, Matsukawa gives him a brief wave. Hanamaki pushes the window open and helps Matsukawa climb through the too-small opening.

Matsukawa brushes himself off once he’s safely inside. “I remember that being easier when we were first years.”

Chuckling, Hanamaki replies, “Well, that was back when you were actually shorter than me by a whole three centimeters.”

With a roll of his eyes, Matsukawa shrugs and goes directly to Hanamaki’s bed to sit. His arms cross, and with a quirked brow, he says, “All right, Hiro, spill.”

Not expecting such a direct confrontation, Hanamaki sits down next to Matsukawa and hugs his knees to avoid looking at his friend directly. Maybe this is a mistake. Finally being able to confide in someone sounded like such a relief fifteen minutes ago, but now when confronted with Matsukawa’s expectant look, he can’t quite find the words to say it out loud.

Hanamaki sighs and crosses the room to his wardrobe instead. He wordlessly rummages through his ‘normal’ clothing until he can reach the plain garment bag hanging in the back, unhooks it, and closes the wardrobe. With the hanger hooked to the doorknob, he unzips the bag with shaking hands.

Taking a deep breath, he pulls out a lace-trimmed sundress — cream and burnt-orange, with the colors swirling upwards from the hem until each climbs over a shoulder to form the straps. It’s his favorite.

As expected, Matsukawa’s expression doesn’t change, which years of friendship tell Hanamaki that he is trying to understand something and hasn’t got there yet. Biting his lip, Hanamaki slings the still-hangered dress over his neck so it hangs off the front of his body. He waits for Matsukawa’s face to morph into disgust, but he decides he doesn’t want to see it and looks away.

There is a harrumph. “It’s a good color for you.”

Hanamaki’s gaze jerks towards Matsukawa, who is idly scratching the back of his head. “Y-you don’t care?”

Matsukawa shrugs. “Honestly, I have no idea what’s going on right now. Are you telling me you’re a transgirl?” Hanamaki shakes his head in disbelief. “Transboy? Genderfluid? Non-binary? Just like to wear dresses?”

Mouth agape, Hanamaki blinks at Matsukawa in shock. “How do you know about this stuff?”

“Not everyone is as they seem, Hiro,” Matsukawa replies simply. “As long as you’re at peace with it, what business is it of mine?” He stands and crosses the room to where Hanamaki is standing in shock and presses the dress to Hanamaki’s body as if he were trying to see what it would look like fully on. “Wanna tell me about it?”

An effervescent feeling of well-being washes over Hanamaki as he informs his best friend about his biggest secret. He had changed schools late in middle school before settling on Seijou, when most of his friends refused to speak to him upon finding out that Hanamaki felt like wearing women’s clothing sometimes. Aobajousai’s reputation as a modern, tolerant place had drawn him. That’s when he met Matsukawa and his life changed for the better. After all they’ve been through, Hanamaki thinks he can deal with the texts and calls from Contact Information Unavailable if it means that this boy can always be his friend.

As if sensing his thoughts, Matsukawa lifts Hanamaki’s chin with his forefinger and gives the latter an easy smile. “Whatever it is, it’s okay. It’s you.”

Hanamaki can’t breathe. It takes all the air left in his lungs to wheeze, “How are you so cool about this?”

Matsukawa shrugs. “My sister, I guess. I learned a lot while she transitioned.”

“Transitioned?” Hanamaki’s brows shot up. “Your sister is trans?”

“My sister used to be my oldest brother,” Matsukawa answered. “I don’t really mention it much because it makes me sick to hear the way some people talk about it.” There is an edge of razor-sharp steel in his voice that Hanamaki has never heard before. “Has someone been bothering you?”

Hanamaki gulps loudly before looking away. “I’ve been getting texts and calls from a restricted number. I know I should just ignore it, but —” He hugs his arms tightly to his chest. “— sometimes, I just hate feeling like a freak.”

He doesn’t know what to expect from Matsukawa — anger, disinterest, sympathy. The tight, enveloping hug is not on his list of possible outcomes, but it comes nonetheless. Hanamaki sighs into Matsukawa’s shoulder as a warm, gentle hand massages away any lingering doubt he has about his secret self being accepted.

“We’ll figure this out,” Matsukawa says, settling Hanamaki down on the edge of the bed. “Now, let me see your phone.”

When he has Hanamaki’s phone, Matsukawa scrolls through the call history and scowls. Within seconds, he is dialing a number on his own mobile.

“Eito —” Hanamaki recognizes the name of Matsukawa’s older brother. “— I need a favor.”

 

* * *

 

“Are you sure about this?” Hanamaki asks, rubbing his eyes as if to make sure the sight in front of him is not an illusion. Never in his wildest dreams would he have imagined seeing his fellow third year teammates in the state they are in at this moment.

Well, maybe Oikawa.

Matsukawa, Oikawa, and a grumbling Iwaizumi are in the volleyball club room, putting the final touches on their day’s attire. Normally, their school uniforms are nothing to write home about, but today is going to be different for reasons he can’t force out of Matsukawa for the life of him.

“How does anyone wear these dumbass shoes?” Iwaizumi growls as he angrily kicks the toe of his patent-leather shoe against one of the lockers, only to swear vehemently in pain.

Oikawa laughs his tinny, mocking laugh. “These are nothing, Iwa-chan. You should try stilettos.”

Glowering at their captain, Iwaizumi grunts, “Remind me to never ask why you know that, Asskawa.”

Of all of them, the least flustered is definitely Matsukawa, who adjusted the bow on the collar of his shirt as if he does it every day. Every seam and pleat, from the tips of his shining black Mary-Janes over white knee-high socks to the collar of his oversized sweater, is smartly in place. And then there is the gentle sweep of a plaid skirt over freshly-shaven legs.

A similar outfit can be found on all four of them.

Iwaizumi had been less than happy with the leg shaving, but Hanamaki is still surprised by how readily his teammates had accepted this outlandish request for the four of them to show up to school wearing full girls’ uniforms.

Matsukawa shakes his head as he observes Oikawa smoothing the skirt repeatedly over his rump and inspecting the results in a small mirror propped up against a bench. “Knock it off, Oikawa. Your ass looks fine.”

Batting his eyelashes, Oikawa coos, “Why, Mattsun, I didn’t know you were looking.”

“Stop flirting, jackass,” Iwaizumi snaps. “They both already know how gross you are.”

Hanamaki can’t help but laugh at the scene in front of him, even the squabbling of their ridiculous captain and vice. And they are here for him, both to expose his harasser and as a ‘gesture of solidarity,’ Iwaizumi had called it earlier. “Guys,” he starts with a deep flush, “I can’t believe you’re actually going through with this. I don’t know what to say.”

Iwaizumi quirks a brow. “You think we’re just going to let someone get away with saying those things to you? Not in this, or in any lifetime, Macky.”

Oikawa nods with an uncomfortably honest expression. “Of course we’ll help you, Macky. That’s what friends are for.” As if he has not just said something grossly out of character, he adjusts his knee socks and adjusts the pleats of his skirt one last time before snapping a selfie.

Hanamaki shakes his head as Matsukawa opens the door of the clubroom. They are as ready as they’ll ever be. One by one, the third year members of the Aobajousai Volleyball Club line up and walk shoulder-to-shoulder through the front door of the school. Past the gasps. Past the snickers. Past the cat-calls.

And with his friends side by side with him, Hanamaki holds his head up high, taking comfort in the sly smile creeping across Matsukawa’s face. That smile never leaves, even when they are called into the principal’s office and scolded for being inappropriate. Matsukawa merely reminds the principal that there is nothing in school regulations stating that the skirted uniform must only be worn by girls, and they are reluctantly released to go about their day.

Oikawa’s flock of fan girls swarms at lunch, inundating him with questions about his outfit. “A precious cinnamon roll amongst our ranks has been treated badly, and we won’t stand for it.” He dramatically flounces his hair, and the girls around him clamor to know more. He explains that some people have no tolerance for others who feel, act, or dress differently, and that he hopes that none of them would ever do that. They all shake their heads almost in unison.

Hanamaki can scarcely believe the influence Oikawa has just exerted over the bulk of the female population of the school. It’s why Matsukawa insisted on enlisting him in the first place. Iwaizumi has a similar effect on the ‘jock’ table, convincing the captains of the basketball, soccer, and tennis teams that making fun of someone for what they wear is about as unmanly as one can get.

By the end of the day, everyone in the school is talking about the volleyballers in skirts and how brave it is for them to do it for a friend. Hanamaki walks into the clubroom for practice, chest puffed with pride, still arm-in-arm with his skirted classmates. When they walk in, there is a small round of applause from their kouhai.

Watari approaches Hanamaki, cheeks pink, and says with a shy smile, “I would do anything to have legs that nice, Macky-san.”

Kindaichi, blushing furiously, excuses himself to go shower, to which Kunimi replies, “We haven’t even practiced yet, stupid.” Hanamaki reckons that the first year’s obvious giant crush on Iwaizumi has something to do with it.

Practice goes on as normal, and not another word is said. Matsukawa walks Hanamaki home after practice and stays to do homework together, both still clad in skirts. Hanamaki can scarcely believe that the day is indeed a reality, that he hasn’t just fallen asleep into a world of his best and brightest dreams.

But like an alarm clock, his text alert jerks him back into reality.

_From: Contact Information Unavailable  
_ _Sent: June 9 8:17PM  
_ _Subject: (no subject)  
_ _Message: I saw you and your disgusting friends at school today. I thought I told you not to come back._  

Hanamaki freezes, and Matsukawa gently pries the phone from his stiff fingers, growling as he taps out a reply. This shakes Hanamaki out of his stupor as he snatches back his phone to see what Matsukawa had said.

_From: Hanamaki Takahiro  
_ _Sent: June 9 8:21PM  
_ _Subject: (no subject)  
_ _Message: I know who you are_  

“You know who it is and you didn’t tell me,” Hanamaki says, disbelief ringing in his ears.

Matsukawa nods. “My brother works for Docomo, so I had him monitor all incoming calls to your number to see which towers this guy is using. Idiot didn’t even turn off his GPS. I know exactly who it is.”

Frowning, Hanamaki asks, “Any chance you’re going to tell me who it is?”

“Eventually. I want to bust him first.”

Hanamaki sighs and goes back to his homework while his mind lingers on what exactly Matsukawa is planning and how they’re going to ‘bust’ this stalker.

 

 

The next day at school comes as a surprise for all four of them. Still donning their plaid skirts until the matter is settled, they do not expect to find nearly all of the basketball team in similar outfits. Iwaizumi shares a nod with the team captain as all involved nonchalantly go about their day. The soccer team also sports a smattering of skirts, and a couple of guys on the baseball team, as well.

Words fail Hanamaki as he tries to grasp that all of this is for his benefit. When the texts don’t come that night, he falls asleep with an ease that has been hard to come by.

More and more skirts appear the following day. Hanamaki estimates that nearly half of the third year male population is wearing them, along with a good chunk of the second years. Few of the first years participate, but he can’t restrain a chuckle when he sees Kindaichi and Kunimi arrive at morning practice in skirts. The latter proceeds as normal, while the former looks uncomfortable and nervous with unshaven legs and uneven sock height.

By the end of the week, about half the guys in school are wearing skirts. All the shops in town are sold out, and Hanamaki figures that a lot of older sisters are now missing some items from their wardrobes.

Matsukawa walks beside him wherever he goes, and that day, he whispers, “I see him. Give me your phone.”

Hanamaki wordlessly gives Matsukawa his phone as he scans the classroom to figure out who has made a mission of destroying his private life. When a ringtone blares out in the quiet of the room, everyone (including Hanamaki) turns and stares. He knows this kid. Taniguchi Katsuki — short, a little pudgy, with glasses and a permanently tired expression. ‘Harmless’ is the first word that comes to mind when Hanamaki thinks about him.

Not this. Never this.

The teacher jerks her head towards Taniguchi and scowls. “Perhaps you would like to share with the class what is so important that you need to interrupt the lesson?”

As Taniguchi vehemently shakes his head, the teacher plucks the phone from his hands and gasps when she reads the string of texts. “Come with me right now,” she hisses as she drags Taniguchi by the sleeve out of the classroom. The rest of the students are silent.

Finally, Matsukawa looks at Hanamaki carefully and asks, “Are you okay?”

Hanamaki nods blankly, still trying to figure out what this kid has against him and why. “I just don’t understand. I don’t think I’ve even talked to him before.”

Matsukawa shrugs. “Some people don’t need a good reason.”

Soon, the vice principal arrives to excuse them from the rest of the day, as this is their last class and is obviously over. Hanamaki and Matsukawa head to the clubroom to change, for the lack of better options, and they are alone.

“So, it’s over now,” Hanamaki says.

“For you, at least,” Matsukawa notes. “Taniguchi is going to have a lot of time to think about what he did. Okada-sensei has a gay brother who was beaten up in a public restroom a few years back, so she’s not too keen on bigots.”

Hanamaki’s eyes widen. “You planned all of this from the start?”

Matsukawa nods. “I wanted him to feel alone. I knew Iwaizumi and Oikawa could recruit a lot of people to wear skirts in solidarity, and I knew the best time to expose him. It actually worked even better than I thought.” He scratches his legs. “I’m glad the skirt thing is over, though. Shaving legs is a pain in the ass, and it itches like a son of a bitch when it grows back.”

“You know, when it comes down to it, you might actually be more devious than Oikawa.”

“No one is _that_ devious.”

They both laugh until tears come out of their eyes. Hanamaki is sure that there is no one in the world more blessed than he is to have friends like he does.


End file.
